


Chandan

by Dryad



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Gen, Post-s9
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 16:01:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5632555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dryad/pseuds/Dryad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James lit another candle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chandan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [owlbsurfinbird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlbsurfinbird/gifts).



James silently lit the votive candle, closed his eyes and prayed. He knew he was going through one of his periodic phases where he wasn't sure of anything, not in relation to work, to Lewis, to Hobson, not even to himself. He felt removed from everything, had done ever since they had discovered that family in that flat. A chill ran over him despite the warmth from the bank of votives, and he shook his head to clear it of the negative thoughts. It didn't work, of course, it never did. Best to keep busy, try not to think about that family for too long, or too hard.

You weren't supposed to bring the work home with you, that's what they advised at Hendon, and for the most part, it was advice he used. But every so often, a case like this, it just crawled under your skin like a splinter, and it would either work its way out or your skin would heal over and encapsulate it, so it wasn't as irritating. Yet it was still there, maybe not visible to the eye, just apparent to the touch, so you could remember at the most unexpected times. 

With a short, explosive sigh at the way his mind worked, James lit another candle. He didn't pray for the family, exactly. Or rather, he did, informally.

When he was done in church, he wandered outside and smoked a cigarette down to ash, just because he could. A father and son passed him, the boy excitedly telling his father what he wanted for his Christmas. And that reminded James he still needed to get Lewis something for the Secret Santa thing. It had been a small pool the previous year just himself, Lewis, Hobson, Charlie Choi, but only because Hobson had insisted.

"He's a great diener," she said, giving the two of them the raised eyebrow _'I don't want to hear it'_ face.

But now Charlie had moved to Korea, and Laura was still in New Zealand, and Lewis had returned to Oxford in a bitter and contemplative mood. 

He hadn't mentioned Hobson beyond a curt 'She decided to take more leave', when James had collected him from Heathrow. And even that had been a fluke - a chance comment by Moody that James had overheard. James hadn't even attempted to engage Lewis in conversation, well, nothing beyond a a _"Welcome back"_ and the usual work gossip. James hadn't been sure that was the right tack to take, but Lewis had settled into the passenger seat with the barest hint of a smile, and so James had taken this to mean Lewis was...if not glad to be back, at least content to be with James. 

He hoped.

A grumpy Lewis was not one James was prepared for yet. Once he made sure Lewis was at home, safe and sound, James left for work. There was the Wexler matter to finish up, the Smithson paperwork to start, the Helen Morley case and whatever he and Lizzie might catch through the day, which hopefully would be easily done. 

A busy day, which now left him sitting outside of Lewis's flat, wondering if he was doing the right thing by bringing his gifts by, or if he should just leave the damned bag on Lewis's desk. Options already considered and discarded included expensive booze, film tickets, gift certificates. All of them impersonal and tragic. The kind of gifts that were terrible once you were no longer fifteen. He hoped the gifts were…he hoped they were accepted in the spirit in which he was giving them. Although they were person. _Very_ personal. _Too_ personal? Was he going overboard? He wished he had someone to ask, but asking at work would let the proverbial cat out of the bag. Rolling his head along the steering wheel, he moaned with frustration. What to do, what to do. 

"James?"

It wasn't the calling of his name so much as the sharp rapping on the window which startled him upright, heart pounding. 

"You spending the night in there?"

"No," said James, grabbing the bag, because there was no way Lewis would have missed it, standing on the passenger side of the car. "Just coming."

Lewis was in a white shirt and jeans, the shirt bright against the gloaming. The sleeves were rolled up on his shirt - James had noted years ago that he only ever did so at home, never at the office. Rounding the car, bag in hand, he couldn't help but ask. "Why do you never do that at the office?"

"Eh?" Lewis stared at him quizzically for a moment, then glanced at his forearms. "Oh, this? I don't know, unprofessional, I suppose."

"You would never."

Lewis cast a glance back at him as they entered the front hallway of the building. "I'm sure I've had moments."

James highly doubted it. He had never seen Lewis behave in anything less than a professional manner, not even when confronted with the knowledge of who had killed his wife. 

The flat was as neat and tidy as ever, though it smelled a bit stale, the odor of dust disturbed. A freshly used glass was on the counter next to the sink, drops of water rolling down the inside as Hathaway set the bag down. He shook his head at his own lack of forethought. "I should have brought some food along."

"Beer would have been better," commented Lewis, opening the fridge and handing him a bottle of Stella Artois.

James opened his beer and then followed Lewis into the living room, wondering if this was such a good idea after all. Maybe he was imagining things - or maybe Lewis did sound short on sleep, if not other things. Other people. James collapsed on the couch next to him. "How was New Zealand? You never did say."

Lewis shrugged, knocked one knee against James's. "Beautiful. I mean, if you've seen Lord of the Rings, then you know what the interior is like. The coast is even more staggering, to be honest. All jagged cliffs and white water. I loved all of it."

"But..." ventured James, frowning as he started to peel off the bottle's label. "You came back?"

"Well, of _course_ I came back, y'daft sod. I've already done the life of leisure policing, wasn't to my taste then, and it isn't now."

James nodded. "Makes sense," and then, because he was a glutton for punishment, "And Laura?"

Lewis gave a combined shrug slash shake of the head. "It's over."

"I'm sorry," James said, hoping he sounded like he meant it. Always terribly awkward, when the friends you loved got into sexual relationships, and then broke up. To be honest, while he liked Laura, he never understood her appeal. Clearly not the woman for him.

"It is what it is," answered Lewis, finishing his sentence with a sip of beer. "Anyway, don't think I didn't notice you brought a bag in with you."

"Ah yes, that. A little welcome home gift."

Lewis nodded, made a 'come hither' motion with one hand.

Right. James retrieved the bag, sat down heavily on the sofa again, offered it to Lewis. 

With raised eyebrows, Lewis carefully shook the bag, frowned at its light weight. "Funny, this doesn't feel like gold bullion."

"You have clearly overestimated my pay packet."

"Well, now I'm intrigued," Lewis untied the top, retrieved a long black jewelry box. He eyed the box, then James. "I hope this isn't a proposal."

"And what if it was?" asked James, a shock of adrenalin souring his stomach. What if it was, indeed?

"Hmm." 

Lewis opened the box, blinked in surprise. "What's this?"

James slid closer. "A tie pin with a single diamond at the end, a set of platinum cufflinks, and a silver card case."

"James - I don't know what to say," Lewis was shaking his head. "This is far too much!"

No, it wasn't enough. "They were my great-grandfather's."

"You should keep these!" Lewis held out the open box.

The gold pin was cool underneath his finger, but James made no move to touch any of the other items. "I thought they suited you. And...they're not the only ones I have from that particular great-grandparent. So, in essence, you're getting the spares."

"Oh, well, in that case - " 

"No," said James shortly. "They represent the complete jewelry of an Edwardian gentleman. And I, I thought they suited you."

Lewis looked at him with narrowed eyes, but eventually only nodded, much to James's relief. "There's one more item."

The envelope Lewis removed from the bag was the kind for a greeting card. Lewis opened it in silence, read it in silence, put it back in the bag, along with the jewelry box, and took a sip of Stella. James spent an eternity quietly panicking. Both gifts were a lot. A lot, a lot, a lot. He had no regrets.

"A star?"

"So you can be watching Oxford in perpetuity."

After a few minutes, Lewis said, "Thank you, lad."

"You're welcome."

They sat in silence for a few more minutes before Lewis turned on the television. That was fine, it was good, it was great. QI was on and they could get back to their regular routine. Assuming - "Are you coming back to work?"

"Can't keep me away, can they?"

"No, sir." _Hell_ no.

**Author's Note:**

> Chandan - Sanskrit for 'Sandalwood'. 
> 
> According to the class I took at Google University in Indian Astrology, the person named _Chandan_ is confident and sociable, cheerful, bright, perceptive, and observant. Frequently has careers in Legal, social, and Medical fields.
> 
> I wish I could remember how the title ties in to Lewis, but I know it cropped up either in one of the S9 episodes or in an interview, _something!_ The weirdest part is that I had already decided on the title when I heard/read/came across it.


End file.
